


Better to Serve in Heaven

by tahariel



Series: Backseat 'verse [1]
Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Dom/sub, Gen, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-12
Updated: 2012-04-12
Packaged: 2017-11-03 13:24:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/381798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tahariel/pseuds/tahariel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prequel to <i>Put me in the backseat, and they took me for a ride</i>.</p><p>“Charles has a very sweet nature,” Raven is saying, her hand falling to the back of his head and stroking his hair very gently, carelessly affectionate. “He doesn’t need someone to force him down, he’s very happy to go there himself. If Erik is the sort to need a fight, then there’s no way I could let him have my brother.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Better to Serve in Heaven

Charles had made his best effort to sleep through the night, but dawn finds him lying awake under the covers anyway, orders or no orders. Raven won’t begrudge him this, at least; his sister may be unbonded herself, but she doesn’t let that spill over into their relationship like some Doms might. She’s only as controlling as she needs to be, as he needs her to be. 

For a sister, this is perfect, he thinks, pleased with his lot, if nervous. But for _his_ Dom… 

The thought makes him shiver deliciously.

He stretches out luxuriously, sheets sliding over his skin as he arches and strains, the muscles tingling with pleasant exertion. It’s indulgent, but he rolls his mind out across the mansion too, stretches his mind along with his body. The housekeeper and maids are already up and moving, and the gardener - Raven is just starting to stir in the room next to his, her thoughts rising from the depths of sleep towards the surface, like air bubbles filled with far-off sounds.

She’ll be in soon, then. Best be ready.

By the time Raven knocks on his door Charles is kneeling in the centre of his bed with his hands folded properly in his lap, dressed for the day in a fine loose shirt of white linen and soft taupe-coloured pants, the bed made and everything in its place. The sun is streaming in through the opened venetian blinds, marking out long rectangles of warm light on the carpet and walls that feel good against his skin.

“Morning,” Raven says, stepping in and taking in his posture with an approving nod. She’s blue today, her glorious hair lengthened and tied up in an elegant knot at the back of her head. The white sheath dress she’s wearing - or maybe appearing to wear, it’s hard to tell - will compliment Charles’ clothes well, he thinks, pleased. “You look great, Charles, good choice. Come on, let’s get some breakfast before she arrives and you knock her socks off.”

He follows her gladly.

They have orange juice with scrambled eggs and smoked salmon in the kitchen while Mrs Cook bustles around with the dainties for the guest trays, elbows knocking together companionably as they eat the same way they did as children, squabbling and comfortable. It’s Charles’ favourite breakfast, yet another sign that the day is to be a special one. Later he will kneel at Raven’s feet, but for now they sit side-by-side at the centre island and Raven pinches salmon from his plate when she thinks he isn’t looking, laughs when he protests and offers him what’s left of hers in recompense. 

Charles feels tense, like a plucked string, waiting to play his note and hoping it will come out perfectly in tune.

“You’ll be fine,” Mrs Cook whispers to him when Raven goes out to check with the maid that the blue sitting room is ready, presses her hand to his shoulder and smiles reassuringly, her time-rounded face motherly and kind. Her own collar rests gently around her throat, the silver fittings polished to a high shine. “You’re a good boy, Charles. They’re going to love you, I just know it.”

Tears well up in his eyes, and impulsively Charles leans forward to hug her, wraps his arms around her middle and kisses the housekeeper’s cheek before drawing back. “Thank you,” he says, one sub to another, lets her hug him back carefully, as though he is something that might break. “I - ”

“Charles, they’re here,” Raven calls from the hallway, and he pulls away from Mrs Cook quickly, jumping to his feet and straightening his shirt - she flicks another button open at his throat, mouth quirking as he jiggles with impatience - then he has to hurry to the sitting room so he can be in position for when the maid shows Emma Frost in and Raven rises from the couch to greet her. Each of them give a polite tip of the head to the side - exposing their swanlike necks, a lovely pair of Doms facing off - before they can shake hands, Emma Frost smiling coolly at his sister before her gaze moves to Charles, kneeling on the floor before the couch, eyes decorously lowered, though he can see plenty through his lashes if he is careful.

Raven gestures at the couch across from theirs, separated from them only by the coffee table and its load of tiny sandwiches and miniature cakes, arranged on tiered silver stands beside the tall cafetiere and matching teapot. It’s all terribly genteel. “Please, won’t you sit?”

“Thank you.” There is a whisper of silk as Emma Frost seats herself, along with a rustle of fur from her beautiful coat, which pools around her on the cushions like a sleek ocean. Charles keeps his hands still and steady, though he longs to reach out and stroke it, see if it’s as soft as it appears. “So this is Charles? Your brother?”

“Elder in years if not in temperament,” Raven answers with studied propriety as she sits back down on the couch above him, the line of her calf brushing against his shoulder in a subtle reassurance. “With our parents both departed, I’m responsible for him. You understand.”

A nod. “All too well. I raised Erik myself, after his mother died. Though responsibility for a Dom is quite different.”

They make small talk over his head for a while, and Charles very carefully does not reach out of his head to this woman, though he is so, so tempted; he can feel the velvet brush of her thoughts against the outside of his, a caress that makes him shiver with a strange pleasure he can’t name. Raven hands him a plate of sandwiches and a mug of tea fixed the way he likes it. He cups it between his hands and takes a long sip, tries to hide the languorous shaking of his fingers against the china.

“Charles has a very sweet nature,” Raven is saying, her hand falling to the back of his head and stroking his hair very gently, carelessly affectionate. “He doesn’t need someone to force him down, he’s very happy to go there himself. If Erik is the sort to need a fight, then there’s no way I could let him have my brother.”

He can just see the upward curl of Emma Frost’s mouth as she smiles, a rosebud curl of red lips in the porcelain doll face she wears over a mind he can feel is strong and sharp, perfectly beautiful and in utter control. “Erik is a nurturing soul at heart. Have no fear on that score. If Charles is good, Erik will be good to him.”

“Charles is very good,” Raven says, and Charles can’t help but shiver then with tremulous joy and relief, the way he always does when she praises him. “I think they might be a good match.”

“I agree,” Emma says, and, “May I?”, and then there are slender fingers tipping his face up with a firm pressure under his chin, and Charles fights to keep his eyes lowered until she tsks at him and he cannot help but glance up and be caught by her clear blue eyes, snagging his gaze and holding it there.

“Oh, yes, I think you will like my brother very much indeed,” Emma says, and presses the pad of her thumb to his parted lips for a moment before withdrawing with a satisfied smile like the cat who’s got the cream. His mouth tingles for hours afterward, and Raven has to send him to his room to sit quietly and calm down, laughing fondly at his distraction and mischievously squeezing a hand around the nape of his neck to make him gasp and go weak at the knees.


End file.
